


when you're strange

by milkday



Category: The Exorcist (1973), The Exorcist (Book)
Genre: Demonic Possession, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, also... i mean it about the bodily fluids, damien probably wishes he fell out that window smh, gross!, lots of bodily fluids this is bodily fluid bingo, sharon i am so sorry for doing you like this, sort of consensual possession?? if you squint, these tags are a mess and i'll update them as and when i actually write more, you can really tell i hate burke here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 05:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15550842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkday/pseuds/milkday
Summary: "Karras stood by the window, surveying Reagan's sleeping body from the corner of his eye. She was alive. Father Merrin was dead but Reagan McNeil was alive. The exorcism had - if you didn't think about it too much - been a success. All's well that ends well. And yet."Damien Karras performs one last good deed, for better or for worse.





	1. I.

_"Come on! Come on, loser! Try me! Leave the girl and take me! Take me! Come into..."_

_It was barely a minute later when Chris and Sharon heard the sounds from above. They were in the study and, dry-eyed, Chris sat in front of the bar while Sharon, behind it, was mixing them a drink. As she set the vodka and tonic on the bar, both the women glanced up at the ceiling._

_Stumblings. Sharp bumps against the furniture. Walls. Then the voice of... the demon? But another voice. Alternating. Karras? Yes, Karras. Yet stronger. Deeper._

_And then... dead silence._

* * *

**I.**

Karras stood by the window, surveying Reagan's sleeping body from the corner of his eye. She was alive. Father Merrin was dead but Reagan McNeil was alive. The exorcism had - if you didn't think about it too much - been a success. All's well that ends well. And yet.

He unlatched the window, without much intending to. Stepped closer. Leaned out.

"Come on, chum." The voice was coming out of his mouth but it was not his. It was Burke Dennings, who apparently could not shut up even in death. "Step out of the window. Break your pious little neck. End it? Isn't a wonderful idea?"

And it was, in its way. A million problems solved at once. He wouldn't feel a thing, he supposed, and it _would_ tie the saga up in a neat little bow.

But.

Karras hesitated, and took a tenth of a step back.   
There was Chris  
(stupid bitch)  
and Reagan  
(ungrateful)  
and Merrin  
(dead)  
to think of. A step forward. Did they matter? A step back. Yes. They did. Forward. End it all. Back -

"Father Karras? Father Merrin?" Chris, her voice high with fear. Sharon stood behind, with an arm curled protectively around her shoulder.

"Merrin's dead." Damien sounded far away, and he did not turn from the window. "Heart attack."

A pause, a gasp. "And Reagan?"

"She lives."

Chris rushed to Reagan's side, curled her arms around her daughter, cradled her like a newborn child, not caring about her vomit-splattered nightgown and the soiled bedsheets. Sharon, however, didn't dare venture from the doorway's relative safety. The 'bad vibes' (as she'd put it) she felt from Reagan had not dispelled, just... changed direction. Was that possible, if the exorcism had been a success (which - looking at Merrin - was somehow doubtful), unless Damien had -

"What happened earlier?"

A long pause. "What do you mean, earlier?" There was a note of contempt in Damien's voice - a whole lotta 'can you fucking believe she's asking this' - which made the skin on Sharon's neck prickle. Her grip tightened on the glass, close to shattering, and Chris looked up in concern.

"The commotion, I mean."

"You should call the morgue. Merrin is dead." And now he turned and in the electric lighting Chris thought, for a moment, that Karras too was a corpse. His eyes were hollow and the twinkle in them that'd kept her afloat for so long was nowhere to be seen. His skin was ashy gray, his mouth drawn into a grim line. Blood dripped from the corner of it, mixing with the vomit caking his shirt. "The morgue, Sharon."

Sharon started backwards, dropping her glass  
(silly little bitch, never did like her)  
(shut UP dennings)  
and Karras outstretched a hand to help her. She declined it, sweeping the shards up and making a break for the stairs. The sound of her heels (Karras wondered abstractedly if she'd ever get the vomit off them - it was everywhere, it'd take years to clean) receded and Merrin's glazed eyes stared up at him as if to say, oh you stupid boy.


	2. II

**II.**

Damien retched into the sink, bent double, spitting blood. He was barely aware of how he'd gotten there - the last twenty-four hours were as fractured as a shattered mirror, and his own perception of reality was fast slipping.  
  
"Karras, old chum, you don't have a chance." Burke, again. "Just go down without a fight. It won't hurt a bit, we promise." His mouth cracked into a smile that wasn't his own. "Be a good little boy, no? Be a good little Dimmy for mama. No more fighting."  
  
"...No." Damien's own voice now, hoarse and cracked. Full of fear. Yet, his own. "I won't. You can't have me."  
  
He looked up from the sink into the mirror. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Chris had stopped talking on the telephone in the next room (Sharon had gotten the fuck out while she still could, or so it seemed) - in fact, the whole house was silent. It seemed to be watching. Waiting.  
  
"Then we'll take back the child."  
  
Damien's grip tightened on the edge of the sink, slick with his own blood. "No. You won't." His voice was hoarse and barely his at all, anymore. "You will not have her."  
  
"Then give in!"  
  
Before he was even aware of what he was doing, he was chuckling and wheezing, blood staining the tiles and black spots dancing before his eyes. The end, he thought. This was all for nothing. What a stupid boy indeed.  
  
Blood turned to yellow bile and yellow bile to something foamy and black that Damien wasn't even aware a human body could make. Still, he hung on. Even as his throat burned - he was spitting up pure acid, it felt like - and the black spots bloomed in front of his eyes, he hung on. Sweat rolled down his fevered brow. The sink threatened to overflow.  
  
"The girl, Damien, the girl." Oh, how it hurt to talk (and it hurt even more to have his voice wrenched away from him, but he could only fight on so many fronts at once). "Give her up and you'll never... you'll never..."  
  
Damien's knees buckled. His vision narrowed to a pinprick. His last thought before he went under was  
 _(what the hell will the drycleaner think?)_


End file.
